


Aka'Magosh

by StrokeAndQuill



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Blow Jobs, Conquest, F/M, Fantastic Racism, First Time, Mind Break, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22382239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrokeAndQuill/pseuds/StrokeAndQuill
Summary: The Orc Warrior Thurg of Clan Blackrock adventures in Azeroth and as he does so he learns of his own potent blessing, showing the meaning of conquest to those he defeats.  His foes fall before him not just in body, but mind and spirit as well.  As he grows mightier, so to grows his collection of new toys, to use as he sees fit.
Relationships: Female Human/Male Orc, Male Orc/Female Night Elf, Sally Whitemane/Orc, Sally Whitemane/Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 56





	1. The Scarlet Cathedral

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during the events of Vanilla World of Warcraft. The timeline will advance as new chapters are released. This chapter, and most following it, focus on a concept of Orc conquest that involves breaking their foes - sexually or otherwise. There are elements of Non-Consent, some lightly graphic descriptions of (non-sexual) violence, and misogynistic themes that I don't condone in real life, and should only be fetishized and explored between consenting adults.

_“Remember, Thurg: victory is a blessing for both parties. The conqueror, for they grow in honor - and the conquered, for they now understand their place in the world.”_

“Arise, my champion!”

The words echoed across the vaulted chamber of the monastery. The priestess who shouted them had emerged from a hidden chamber just as the Scarlet Commander had fallen to the bite of Thurg’s axe, the Human Warrior stumbling up the stairs towards the altar before collapsing, dead. The Orc Warrior growled at this new intruder as blood dripped from his weapon onto the gilded floor. 

She came forth, not heeding the danger of the enraged Orc and his four companions arrayed behind him. She lifted her hand as she spoke and a pillar of pure light rose from the ground, surrounding the body of fallen Human before the altar. 

“Dat ain’t fair!” came shouted from the citadel floor as the Scarlet Commander Mograine once more rose to his feet, leveraging his great weapon for support as his strength returned to him. The Troll thief Va’szun who had helped Thurg and his party break in to the Monastery looked more offended than angry at the circumstance, even though he’d be the first to admit that he’d cheat at any game if he thought he could get away with it.

Thurg stared at the Human woman who had joined the fray. She was young, as far as Thurg could tell, just recently in adulthood. Her strange white hair hung loose and long about her thin face, framing her pale skin and reflecting the flickering candlelight of the room. Strange red paint marked her face, and she wore a similar but far more revealing version of the crimson robe of this strange cult. Her top was a simple bodysuit with a tabard hanging off the front, and her exposed thighs led down to long red boots with golden clasps. Atop her head was a strange crimson cap, circular with a vaulted front that parted into a crescent at the top.

Watching her so casually undue the violence Thurg had wrought enraged him, and he let out a fierce battle cry, pointing his axe forward before charging recklessly once more into the fray. He slammed his jagged axe against the wooden shield he carried as he moved up the stairs, flecking away the red paint showing the symbol of the Horde.

His four companions leapt after him as well, chance friends met in the days before. The roguish Va’szun, tall and lanky with pale green skin, wearing dark leather armor came first. He had planned the infiltration with Thurg in Orgrimmar, and his quips were a constant irritation on the road - but he was a vicious warrior when he caught a foe off guard. Then there was the dark and eager Mulga, an Orc woman who traded with demons. She lived without care of what tomorrow would bring, and Thurg had warmed himself at her side many times on their trip across the ocean on the Goblin zeppelin. Her small imp hurled balls of flame across the air at the risen Mograine. 

The last two hung back, in relative safety from the melee. The Tauren Meldeen sighted along her strange rifle, it’s oversized scope glinting green as she pulled the trigger. The entire room echoed with the sound, and her Plainstrider let out an accompanying screech as it followed forward. The two seemed eager for any adventure, and gladly joined for the chance to see more of the strange Eastern Kingdoms across the sea. Finally, the Undead Priestess, Emily, watched carefully, muttering incantations under her breath as she swirled darkness alongside corrupted light. The walking corpse had been a late addition as they stayed the night in the dark Undercity before setting out, a chance friend made by Meldeen who seemed interested in doing as much damage to the Scarlet Crusade as possible. 

The first round against Mograine had been vicious, and now with his priestess behind him the onslaught was even more terrible. The floor of the Cathedral was already slick with the blood of the guards the group had fought through to get this far, as the room was getting darker as the sun set, its light fading from the hall and leaving only flaming torches in its wake. 

Thurg caught Mograine’s first blow against his shield, his arm shaking under the immense strength of the attack. He screamed in defiance, spittle leaping forth from his jowls. The two duelled at the top of the step, matching blow for blow, shield turning sword away as sword parried axe.

As their fight continued, Va’szun slipped past the Scarlet Commander, eager to pounce on the Inquisitor and see how her lack of armor stood against his poisoned blades. He leapt over the altar towards her, but she turned to him and locked eyes. As she did so, she spoke a word of command in a strange language none of the Horde warriors could heed. Va’szun stumbled forwards and stopped, looking into her eyes. His own pupils seemed to lose focus as he stood dumbly in place. Thurg shouted at him, his voice loud and rough over the din of battle.

“What are you doing? Fight!” Va’szun payed him no heed however, and after a moment’s hesitation while he continued to stare into the crimson eyes of the priestess, he drew a small smoke bomb from his belt and hurled it to the ground, disappearing from sight.

“Kill her, thief! Enough games!” Thurg commanded, as he continued to trade blows with Mograine. Meldeen’s Plainstrider tried to leap on the Human’s back, but he kicked Thurg back and turned, swinging his greatsword in a wide arc, decapitating the beast. Meldeen cried out in distress, stampeding forward as her hands glowed with green energy to heal her pet. 

The Scarlet Inquisitor turned her attention to Mulga and her imp, and with a flick of her wrist the Imp turned translucent and then disappeared, banished back into the void. Mulga’s dark bolts of shadowy energy were caught on Whitemane’s staff, who returned bright lances of light back at her, matching Fel energy with Holy. 

This left Emily unguarded and alone, weaving healing energy about the battlefield, directed at her temporary companions. So focused was she on the battle, however, she was completely unprepared for Va’Szun, who appeared behind her, his will surrendered to that of the crimson priestess. With a kick of his long legs to the back of her head, Emily was stunned and the tattered remains of her spell died on her lips, the magic fading away. The beguiled rogue swept his daggers across her in a flurry, finally ending in planting them deep in her exposed back. Wordlessly, the Undead Priestess fell forward, unlife fading from her eyes, a sad smile upon her lips.

Things deteriorated even more quickly in the seconds after. Pulled away by the shouting behind her, Meldeen spun back towards the sudden betrayal and cracked off a hasty shot towards the Troll. Despite the lack of time to adjust, it was aimed true, and without commands to do so Va’Szun made no attempt to evade. The bullet caught him in the chest, lifting him off the ground and slamming him back into one of the large stone pillars that lined the hall. An old painting cracked beneath his body and broke, falling to the floor alongside the motionless body of the Troll.

Meldeen did not last much longer. Distracted by what was going on, standing near the melee where her Plainstrider had fallen, she was unprepared when Mograine made a sudden arcing sweep around him. Thurg deflected the blow off his shield, but he could protect only himself, not the distracted Tauren as well. The divine blade cut her in two in a single blow, leaving only Thurg and Mulga remaining.

The move left the Scarlet Commander exposed, however, and Thurg finally found the upper-hand against Mograine. His axe slipped past the Paladin’s defenses and caught his shoulder, causing him to cry in pain and stumble backwards towards the Inquisitor. Before the Orc could capitalize on his advantage, however, the woman lifted her arms, her left warding off Mulga’s magic as her right channeled healing into Mograine, closing his wounds. “Drain her mana, or we will never end this!” Thurg shouted to Mulga, pushing Mograine back into the altar, the Inquisitor on the other side of the stone slab. Mulgra grinned and quickly acceded to the plan. With a flick of her wrist, a blue stream of light came forth, pointed directly at Whitemaine. 

The air crackled with Fel energy as it drained away the magic from the Priestess. The Human woman acted quickly, leaping forwards towards the Orc Warlock and drawing a long dagger from her belt. It’s crimson blade glinted in the low light of the room, the sun having completely sunk below the horizon outside. She charged towards Mulga, paying no heed to the blue beam dragging her mana away. With her last reserves, she drew the blade up and enchanted it with holy power. She leapt down the last few stairs, her eyes locked onto Mulga’s as she fell towards her, lightning arcing between their glaring visages. 

As she landed, she slammed the dagger into the Orc woman’s chest, piercing her corrupted heart and ending her. Whitemane’s mana was completely gone, and she stood shakily to her feet, the dagger falling from her numb hand to the floor. For a moment, the room was quiet other than heavy breathing, and the Inquisitor realized the fighting atop the stairs had ceased. She turned, just in time to see the lifeless form of Scarlet Commander Mograine crash into her, as Thurg hurled it down the stairs. With a gasp, she fell backwards, and the world darkened around her.

\---

Whitemane awoke lying on cold stone. Her eyes flicked open, adjusting slowly to the dim light of the room. Most of the torches were out, save for a few near the top of the stairs, and a handful of candles around the altar where she was lying face down. She started to turn to try to stand, and realized her hands were tied behind her back with a tight cord. Her reserves of magic were nowhere to be found and didn’t seem to be recharging at all as if some dark magic sealed her off from the Light. Turning on her side, she saw the other survivor of the skirmish staring at her from a few feet away, at the top of the steps. 

It was her first chance to get a good look at him. He was somewhat typical for an Orc Warrior. Bulky and strong, sinuous muscles crowding his arms and body. His dark green skin still had some stains of blood, though he had clearly taken the time to clean himself while she was unconscious. He wore little armor, just a harness and rough leather breeches. His face was scarred and stoic as he watched her, small marks across both cheeks as well as the forehead showing him as a veteran of many battles. His two tusks jutted up past his bottom lip, visible even with his mouth closed. His head was clean shaven, save for a long ponytail that started at the back of his skull and ran halfway down his back, banded in gold. 

Whitemane was too young to remember the Second War, and during the Third War only the Scourge had ravaged her land, not the Orcs. She’d never been so close to one.

Looking past him, the Inquisitor saw that the bodies of the fallen - his four allies and her champion, as well as many other Scarlet Crusaders - had been laid down across the floor in positions of rest. Their weapons were arrayed about them, or rested atop them, and a candle burned at the foot of each corpse. A barbaric display. She tried once more to find her magic to break free and surprise the brute, but it would not come.

“You have no more magic, slave. I have taken it from you.” The Orc spoke quietly, but their was strength and conviction to his words. “You are spoils of war now.” He rolled his neck and stretched his shoulders.

Whitemane rolled to her side and sat up on the edge of the altar, difficult to do without her hands. She was still arrayed as before, though her hat was lost somewhere on the floor of the cathedral. “You cannot take my magic from me, foul beast. I am a conduit of the Light itself.” Despite her conviction, she felt fear well up in her. Ever since she had first come into her magic as a child she had felt the spark inside herself, comforting her, warming her. It was not there now. She felt alone, trapped. 

Thurg shrugged casually, staring at her. His eyes seemed to roam over her body constantly, not settling long in one place. “I did.” His words were harsh, clipped, and direct, his use of the Common tongue uncouth on his lips. “Mulga had a binding cord.” He nodded towards the corpse of the Orcish woman Whitemane had killed with her dagger. “She told me about it when we were on the Zeppelin from Kalimdor. I have bound you with it.” Whitemane felt the cords around her wrists at her back tense and tingle as if knowing they were being spoken of. “When you receive the blessing of victory and are broken, I will remove it.”

“I don’t care about your barbaric rituals and blessings, Orc filth,” she spat, venom on every word. “My Crusaders will tear you limb from limb, week after agonizing week for the crimes you’ve committed against us. Soon, they will come pouring into the cathedral, weapons in hand. What will you do then? Grovel? Beg for your life?” She felt energized by her taunts, her body shaking with energy. As she spoke, Thurg began to slowly walk towards her across the dozen steps between the altar and the top of the stairs. “Yes, I hope you will scream and beg, just so I can deny you any chance. My torturers will tear your-” her words were cut off suddenly at Thurg’s arm snapped forwards, the back of his hand slamming into her cheek. She went bowling off the altar onto the floor at his feet, gasping for breath.

“You lost, slave. None come to rescue you,” he replied, reaching down with one strong arm and lifting her body off the floor. He grasped her by the front of her tunic, bringing her to eye level with him, her toes dangling nearly two feet from the floor. She struggled in his grip, but he held her steadfast, unmoving, as he locked eyes with her. “You are mine now, by rights of victory and conquest. You Alliance filth never understand that, do you? You always have to be taught.” 

“I am not Allia-” once more she found her words cut short as he turned her around and pushed her into the alter face first. Her body was pressed into the surface, her face smashed against it, the cold stone both soothing and needling at her cheek where Thurg had hit her. “Don’t care,” Thurg replied, one hand pushing on her back and pinning her into place. “You are not Horde. So you must learn.” 

His other hand fell on her viciously, an open palmed slap against her rear, the sound echoing in the empty room off of vaulted walls and stone pillars. The noise was chased by the Inquisitor’s scream of sudden pain, and then in turn by another cracking slap. Five times the Orcs calloused hand rose and fell. By the third, Whitemane’s cry turned from a scream to a harsh rasp, tears welling in her eyes. On the fourth she gasped for air, and on the fifth her body went limp, no longer struggle against being pinned against the stone.

“C-c-curse you, dog,” Whitemane spat out, her body shaking. “I will not be b-broken by your hand.” Her voice stammered, weak and hoarse. In all the pain, however, she felt another sensation creep along her body, dark and shameful, oft hidden away for none to see. She knew of lust - she saw it in the faces of the recruits before they had been broken into chaste Crusaders. And she knew it in her own heart, in her quiet moments alone, resting as the day faded away. 

“Not my hand. It is only the herald.” Thurg’s hand fell on her once more, but gently this time, resting on her exposed thigh between her outfit and her boot. His rough fingertips seemed to scratch at her skin, smooth and pale, and her leg twitched against her will, a tiny sigh escaping her lips. “Hm. Humans. All the same.” Thurg’s hand moved slowly, only a single finger tracing along her leg towards the edge of her leotard. He continued to hold her in place with the other hand, effortless strength preventing her any hope of escape. 

The Priestess tried to find more curses and taunts to hurl at the Orc, but her voice caught in her throat as his finger slipped below the folds of her cloth and lightly touched the edge of her sex. Thurg smiled to himself as he felt that she was already wet, her body reacting to her conquest. “All the same,” he repeated to himself, before suddenly wrenching at her outfit, tearing the crotch out in a hard pull that bit the tunic into her shoulders and body. She cried out at the sudden violence, but it was brief and ended quickly as it began. The cold air of the Monastery blew against her exposed body, stinging her ass where the Orc had hit her before. She gasped again, trying to control her bodies sudden rush of wanton desire, and found herself unable to do so. 

The Orc’s hand was on her once more, his finger quickly finding her vulnerable clit, her body slick and eager. The Orc leaned against her from behind and she felt his manhood straining against his breeches on her leg. His other hand on her back move up to grasp her neck as his elbow pinned her down instead. He did not choke her, but held her in place as he leaned forward, his mouth by her ear as his right hand worked against her body slowly and steadily, a single finger taking control of her every thought and desire. “Do you feel your conquest yet, Human? Thurg will show you the blessing of the victor.” His pace quickened, and his hand about her throat tightened slightly, not cutting off her air fully, but making her labor to breath. 

“Nnngh,” choked out from the Priestess’s lips, a noise of pleasure, desire, and despair rolled into one. Her legs and hips bucked against Thurg’s body desperately as he did his work and any hope she had of maintaining her composure was thrown away. Her lips parted and her tongue slipped out, a sharp pink point at the edge of her lips as she gasped with every twitch and movement. If she heard Thurg’s words, she did not heed them or respond with other words. His ministrations did not let up either way, steadily increasing in pace and strength as his palm pushed her bucking hips against his body and held them still. 

Whitemaine’s gasps came quicker as well, wordless prayers on the defiled altar. Her chest ground against the stone, only the cloth of her garb between them, and it felt as if rough hands groped and grasped at them, heightening every experience. Her body felt as if some sort of massive wave was looming down towards her, growing closer and more ominous by the moment; but the fear brought an anxious excitement with it. She knew something was coming, something terrible and powerful.

With suddenness it burst forth, a wave of ecstasy and pleasure crackling along her body like lightning, from her sex down to her toes, before arcing back up to the tip of her head. It consumed her, and she cried out in desperate release. When finally her high released her she felt dizzy and weak and she realized that the Orc was no longer pinning her down. She could not feel his body against her at all - no hand toying with her, nothing crushing her down with terrible strength. She feebly raised her head to look behind her, thinking for a moment that she had been left her free. She felt her resolve start to return before she finally saw that Thurg stood behind her, only inches from her exposed body. 

As she watched, his hands untied the last knot in his leather breeches, and slipped them from his waist and fell down to the floor. He wore nothing underneath, and was clad in only the harness across his chest. Every bit of him rippled with muscle, and he glistened with a thin sheen of sweat from the battle and from toying with her before. Despite the difficulty in craning her neck with her hands still tied to her back, she stared at him transfixed, her eyes drawn between his legs. 

Whitemane had little experience with men’s members be they Human or Orc, but the sight of this one filled her with delirious dread and longing. The two emotions warred in her mind, and she let out a quiet “Nooo…” from her lips, the whispered breath amplified like a shout. She knew in her heart of hearts that she would not come out from an encounter with something like that whole and intact. She tried to struggle again, but Thurg stepped forward, each of his hands grasping her slender waist and lifting her feet off the ground, leaving her face and chest the only leverage for her body. 

“P...please. I submit, spare me, please...you’ll destroy me,” she whimpered softly, but without conviction. Her body ignored her minds fear, straining towards the Orc’s cock resting on the edge of her slit. He held her still, just at the edge of entrance, feeling her body quiver in his grasp.

“Yes. I will. But when I’m done, you will know your place.” He plunged forward, hilting himself within her. She was so slick with desire from his earlier work that he felt little resistance, despite her small frame and lack of experience. She screamed, but not in pain. Carnal bliss overwhelmed her, and once more she orgasmed, unable to contain herself or hold back. Within a half dozen strokes she slipped over the edge again, and then the peaks began to blur together into a consistent hum of pleasure. 

Whitemane’s mouth fell open again, her tongue sticking out as she panted in heat. She forewent any semblance of resistance, moaning wantonly with each thrust. Again and again the Orc slammed into her, his pace unrelenting and eager as he finally found his own opportunity for pleasure after hours of fighting and bleeding. His rage began to build, the demonic blood of his forefathers coming to life in his veins. His hands gripped tightly, sharp fingernails tearing at tattered cloth and piercing skin just slightly. He drew her back and forth over his member like a toy, no longer fucking her but using her as a sleeve for his own satisfaction.

If the Human felt any discomfort at this, she didn’t show it. Her face was pure joy, and it was impossible to determine when each individual orgasm began and ended. Her eyes rolled back, and for a moment she passed out, recovering seconds later upon the next thrust. The world around her was hazy and dim, her focus dropping away with every moment. Her existence became the thrust of the cock, the slapping of bodies together. It filled her mind, taking up every empty space as the experience drove away more and more of who she was. Finally, Thurg let out a beastial roar and unloaded himself inside her. She felt it flood her, unfathomable pleasure and warmth embracing her as it happened. 

He held her in place for a moment, fully sheathed within her, impossibly deep. Finally he withdrew himself slowly, and his member slipped out, cum dripping from her onto the stone floor before the altar. Thurg dropped her down, and she collapsed on the floor in a puddle of both their juices. Slowly, she looked up at him, and her face held none of her previous scorn or malice, nor any fear. Only deep desire and adoration rested there now. With her hands still tied behind her back, she shuffled her body so that she was on her knees in front of him. His cock still stood forward at attention, not yet weary. It drew her forward like a light to a moth.

“Clean me, slave,” he commanded, looking down at her. Before she had even registered his orders, she began to heed them, leaning towards him with her mouth open and tongue outstretched. Without her hands she had only her tongue to do the work, but she knew in her soul that this was his desire. She slipped the large head of it into her mouth, licking the tip and tasting the mix of his own seed coupled with the evidence of her own lust, and it was as if she tasted the sweetest wines of the High Elves before their fall. She lapped at it greedily, and felt his body react to her work. 

Her senses were flooded with the experience. The taste of his cock, the smell of him and feeling of his coarse skin on her tongue. The sight of the long member as it stretched out before her, and the sound of her own desperate sucking and licking as she did her best to please him. She could not go far along his shaft, but she used her tongue to clean each bit of it, and then down to his scrotum to ensure every drop of juice and seed was cleaned from him. 

They stayed like this for many long minutes, Thurg regarding his new slut as she pleasured him eagerly, a broken thing for him to reshape as a toy. She had been a hard won achievement, but worth it in the end. The thought of his victory excited him further, and he felt himself draw closer to another release. Ready to finalize his conquest, he grasped her hair and pulled her head back, so that she was looking up at him. With a thumb her pushed open her mouth, and content that she was ready, a swift stroke of his cock finished him. 

Cum leapt out in waves, drawing long white lines across her face. The first plastered her right cheek, while the next covered her forehead and nose across the center of her visage. Two more followed to cover much of the rest of her face, before a final rope landed across her mouth, filling it was a fresh taste of Thurg’s seed. Whitemane moaned, a small shudder running through her as she swallowed it eagerly, her tongue darting out to gather what more it could. 

She sat dazed for a moment, only her tongue reaching out to find the last drops it could reach before finally being satisfied that none were close enough. She looked up at him and smiled, her cum covered face a testament to her defeat. “Thank you, Master.” she said, leaning forward and planting one last kiss on his scrotum. Thurg grunted, and then reached down, grabbing his breeches and placing them back on. Finally, he lifted her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder as she giggled, and began to walk towards the gate of the cathedral, and into the starlit night.

She would be a fine start to a collection.


	2. Ashenvale Forest, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thurg travels deep into Ashenvale, and encounters a Night Elf Sentinel

The strange forest seemed to be more alive than it had any right to be. Insects and small animals flitted through the grass wherever Thurg turned and their calls and whispers echoed unceasingly. He had hardly noticed it at first, but at this point it had reached a cacaphony of buzzing and beastial cries. Even the plant life was alien to him, more vibrant and full of energy than any he had seen in his travels through Kalimdor. He had heard stories about how dangerous and strange Ashenvale Forest was, but they hadn’t done it justice.

He longed to be back home in Orgrimmar with his new human slave. She had taken to her new life well, once her broken mind was molded into an obedient, willing, and eager toy. Her skill with her mouth was now beyond compare and Thurg had greatly enjoyed the training to get her to that point. He could picture her now, naked save for those boots of hers he had saved, crimson leather reaching up to her knees, with a red leather collar about her neck attached to a silver chain. It was ornamental now, of course - the real chains were about her mind, not her body.

He still wasn’t sure how he’d broken her so thoroughly - if she was just naturally susceptible to such things, or if some other power was at work. Many a woman of the Alliance had been taken as plunder by the Horde during the great wars after the Orcs had come through the portal into Azeroth. Thurg was still in his mother’s womb for that journey, but his father fought alongside Blackhand himself in the invasion, and then the Doomhammer after. He had fallen in the battle of Blackrock Spire, along with so many others of their kin, but Thurg had taken up his axe when the Third War erupted, and followed Warchief Thrall across the sea to Kalimdor.

At his father’s knee had had heard the stories of Orcs and Trolls taking the women of Human or Elven armies after a great battle, just as the Orcs did to the Draenei before the fall. But in none of those stories did they ever tell of a captive being so thoroughly willing and eager in the time after their enslavement. No, most tales they were wholly unwilling until the last, and most escaped once their new masters became careless and bored of them. In his battles during the Third War and the exploration of Kalimdor there had been few chances for loot and plunder. Old enemies and new became allies against the demons, and peace had reigned for a while in the days after, with only centaurs and other such foes to face.

Thurg had experienced his share of Orcish women, to his own pleasure and satisfaction. The nights before battles the camps were little more than orgies as the warriors enjoyed what may be their last moments of life. Even in peace he had never lacked for opportunities to bed another Orc. On a few occasions he had shared a night with an adventurous Troll, and in one particularly interesting experience an ambitious Goblin woman had used her entire body to pleasure him at once. They had been pleasant experiences, but they had also been fairly tame, and Thurg had no other experience with the strange primal lust he had felt that day in the Scarlet Monastery.

But in those moments standing by the altar, Thurg had known what to do instinctually. He could see the actions and paths he’d need to take to break the Inquisitor and his mind and body had burned with desire to do so. It was as if some madness of purpose had possessed him and he had never felt more alive and mighty than in the moment when his new slave had shown her obedience to him. He had some strange power, some blessing, but he did not understand it. He longed to experience it again, and to further train the white haired slut in her new life. 

Honor called him north, however. After the latest round of attacks on Warsong Gulch by the elves of Darnassus, Thurg and a number of other aspiring Champions of the Horde had been sent to win honor and glory against their foes and prove their worth to the Warsong Outriders, mighty warriors of great renown. They had spread out upon entering the forest, each eager to have their own victories to bring back to Mor’shan.

Despite his size, Thurg moved stealthily through the woods. His axe - the axe of his father, and his father before him - was gripped in one hand with his fingers tight about the shaft, and his left arm held his shield strapped in place, the red and black paint showing the symbol of the Horde still fresh on it. As normal for him, little other armor was worn; just leather breeches, heavy boots, and a harness across his chest to hold a few goods. His muscled form was damp with a sheen of sweat despite the cool air, exertion from the long hike across Ashenvale. A riding wolf would have been welcome, but he knew his best chance in victory was in stealth.

He had traveled west from the Warsong Lumber Camp and saw signs that there was an outpost of the Night Elf’s Silverwing army in the area. They were skilled scouts and archers, which he knew well from battles in the hotly contested Warsong Gulch. If he could ambush one or get close to them, however, overpowering them would be a simple task. Druids were a concern, especially deep in this forest, the throne of their power. He’d have to take such enemies with cunning if the opportunity arose.

He cleared a small hill and looked down into a grove near the edge of the gulch. A small path passed beneath a gate, leading up a hill to a ramped building. Around the edge clearing a few blue wisps flitted through the air, drawing power from the trees. He could spot three of the Silverwing Sentinels standing guard, their glaives and bows on them. Attacking the camp alone would be foolhardy at best - far more of the Silverwings could be inside the outpost ready to respond to any assault, and Alliance troops heading to or from Warsong Gulch likely passed through here. He’d need to find another way to-

Midthrought, Thurg spun and leapt from his crouched position with his shield protecting his face. He felt the force of a projectile slam into it and saw the arrowhead pierce the wood of his shield by an inch before finally stopping. On instinct his shield twitched down, catching a second arrow before he dove behind a rock jutting up from the hilltop for cover. Adrenaline pumped through his body as he felt muscles tense and quiver with excitement. He ripped the arrows from his shield and stood still as a statue, listening for movement on the grass.

Time seemed to slow for him, and his senses sharpened as the battlelust grew in him. Every fight brought forth such feelings, but ever since the Monastery it had been redoubled in him. Even now he could sense her in some strange way, this Night Elf Sentinel who had tried to ambush him. He knew she was walking around the area slowly, at a distance of a few dozen yards from his position, trying to draw line of sight to him. She moved from cover to cover with Elven grace, but he could hear every blade of grass as it bent, and could smell her movement in the wind as the air around her was displaced.

He spent no time examining this strange sensory power, but instead immediately capitalized on it. He flung a small stone towards the left where she was moving, causing her to become distracted for a moment while he used the cover of his rock to move to a new hiding place unknown to her. He kept the large stone between them as she circled around and he began to climb it quietly. She cleared the edge of the stone with her bowstring taut, expecting him to be cowering there but found nothing. In a defensive position she scanned the area, looking to see what cover he could possibly be hiding behind, but she failed to look upwards and above her, to the top of the rock.

Thurg’s leap down brought him crashing into her shield first, sending them both sprawling to the ground. They were too far from the camp for their fighting to be heard, but a loud enough shout could bring attention, and he needed to end this quickly. To the Elf’s credit, however, she bounded back to her feet instantly, but her bow had been lost in the tumble and only her glaive remained available to her. Thurg stood up, snapping the wooden shaft of the bow beneath his boot and watching the string release its tension. The Sentinel snarled at him and said something in her strange language, “ _ Bandu Thoribas!”  _ The words were meaningless to Thurg, but their intention was clear as she pointed the glaive towards him and charged forward. With his dilated senses Thurg got his first good look at her in the dim sunlight of the heavy forest.

She was tall, even for her people - nearly his own height, and he was large for an Orc. She was wearing no helmet and her purple skin looked dark in the low light, but her eyes shone brightly, the color of amber. Her hair was a vibrant green and contrasted brightly with her skin as it drew a frame about her face. Long ears pointed out through the green, their tips stretching far beyond her head. Her armor was that of the Silverwing Sentinels, a steel breastplate and pauldrons over painted leathers, with a tabard displaying their symbol on her front - a white bird on a purple field, with three white stars about it. Metal boots covered her feet, but in her grace they left no prints in the dirt and mud. She was lean, but where he could see there was strength and muscle, along her arms and biceps which were exposed. 

He twisted out of the way of her glaive at the last moment, causing her to over-commit to the attack and land herself inside his reach, eliminating the benefit of her long weapon. He slammed his shield into her once more, turning her to put her back to the dense forest and giving himself the open ground behind him to maneuver. Undeterred, she swept her leg at his ankles, trying to trip him to the ground and gain an advantage, but his size and strength were too great and she found no purchase. Instead, he delivered a quick kick to her abdomen, and while her armor absorbed much of the blow it still winded her, and she rolled back to the edge of the woods against a tree. 

Using her glaive as leverage, she pushed herself to her feet, watching shakily as Thurg approached her, his axe moving through the air as he rolled his wrist and stretched his arm. She realized that she was overmatched in a melee against this brute and with no other recourse she opened her mouth to shout, hoping to bring aid from Silverwing Grove.

The sound never reached her lips. Thurg closed the gap between them and his axe left his hand and fell to the ground as he wrapped his fingers around her throat. She felt his calloused skin scratch against her neck as he lifted her off the ground with one hand and pinned her against the large tree at the edge of the clearing. The shout died in the air into no more than a gasping whisper as she struggled to draw breath. Her glaive was down in the grass, lost when he had grabbed her, and her hands struggled feebly against his wrist but he did not budge or move.

Deeply he stared into her eyes, level with his own and she saw didn’t see hatred or rage - but there was a burning desire in their that terrified her, and a sense of total calm and control. Her hands fell to the side as she started to run out of air and the energy left her. Her vision was blurring around the edges but she found she could not unlock her eyes from his own as they bored into her, as if he was opening her mind and looking through it.

“No screams, Elf,” he whispered to her in guttural Common, his grip loosening enough for her to draw breath. Greedily she sucked the air down into her lungs. Still he stared at her as her body heaved up and down with heavy breaths. She did not scream - his hand was still about her throat and could close again at any time. “What’s your name,  _ Kaldorei _ ?” His voice was rough and coarse, and the Darnassian word sounded strange on his tongue. She was surprised he knew it. A spark of defiance rose in her, hearing her language dragged through the mud.

“I won’t answer you, green filth,” she replied in Common; venom dripped off every word. “Kill me if you dare; my sisters will hunt you down and skewer you with arrows, and leave your body for the crows.” If her words troubled him he gave no response other than a small grunt, but when she mentioned his sisters he saw his eyes narrow for a moment; not in fear, but as if some grand idea had just struck him. 

“If you want me to kill you, Alliance dog, just try to scream again.” He paused, waiting to see if she would dare. When a few moments of breath passed, he nodded, as if he had gotten the answer he suspected. “That’s what I thought - not ready to die yet. Good.” Suddenly, he opened his hand and she fell from his grip. Most mortals would have fallen to the ground in surprise, but she was a Sentinel of the Silverwing and had trained for millenia. She landed on a foot, crouched and pivoted to roll towards her glaive. She knew the Orc would not have the speed to intercept her, they were a slow and-

He grabbed the back of her breastplate and lifted her up within a second of her hitting the ground. ‘ _ How is he so fast?’  _ she thought, but before she could answer her own question she was slammed back against the tree, now with her hands pinned at the wrist by his grip, above her head so she hung loose from the fixed point. She watched him throw his shield to the side, freeing up his other hand, and he flexed his fingers once, the knuckles cracking as she struggled against his grip.

“I didn’t say you could do that. Answer me. What is your name?” Once more his eyes bore into her with that strange look and before she realized it, the answer came to her lips unbidden and she responded shakily.

“F-Farsong. Silverwing Sentinel Farsong.” Her voice quivered quietly when she spoke, and once the words left her she felt a strange feeling wash over her, as if answering him granted the same small pleasure as a cool drink on a warm day or stretching after too long crouching in one place. She had stopped struggling in his grasp without noticing.

He kept her pinned by her wrists above her head. Her feet dangled a few inches from the ground and without any leverage she had no way to fight against him. He was much stronger than her, clearly, and he had proven terribly fast for his size already. The skin of his hand seemed hot, like it was burning her own body as he held her, and a strange feeling began to spread through her starting from her wrists and slowly traveling down. It lingered between her legs and her face flushed as she felt herself begin to well with desire. ‘ _ What is happening to me?’ _

“How many are you at the camp?” He waved his free hand back towards the Silverwing Glade but his eyes never left her own. She wanted to tell him the truth, and her body screamed to do so, but her mind fought back.

“I’ll never tell you that, Orc.” The words were meant to be defiant and harsh, but they emerged weak and shallow instead. 

“Wrong answer.” Thurg’s free hand reached up and deftly undid a strap on her breastplate and then another. After a few moments the armor was loose and he ripped it off of her, revealing her leather shirt below. “Try again.”

Her breathing quickened as new thoughts unfolded in her mind. Still, part of her wanted to capitulate, to tell him whatever he wanted to know, to offer him even more than he asked. Another part was defiant, angry that this enemy had dared to despoil her of her gear. Now a third part emerged, which wanted to defy him but not because it hated him - because it wanted to see how far it could push him, and what he’d do if she kept saying no. 

“ _ Tor ilisar'thera'nal,”  _ she spat at him, and while he once more did not understand the meaning of the words, it seemed an insult or a challenge. He shrugged in return.

“Fine. I like doing things the hard way.” The words from the Orc sent a jolt of secret excitement through her and she pushed back and tried to suppress it, but her body was beyond her control now and the excitement was mounting. Thurg grasped her shirt at the hem and pulled in a single violent motion. He kept her stuckto the tree with his grip and her body was yanked forward until the fastenings finally broke, leaving her exposed to the cool forest air. The skin beneath her neck was flush, a darker shade of purple peeking through as her heavy breathing raised and lowered her naked chest. The part of her still in control was filled with shame but even so her nipples were hard and she yearned for more.

This wasn’t lost on Thurg. He still wasn’t sure what drove him in this, and how he seemed to know how to influence her body and mind but he wanted to test the limits of this power. His hand trailed a finger down her chest between her breasts and he smiled as she let out a long and shuddering moan. “It looks like you want to do it the hard way too, Elf.” If she heard him she didn’t reply, but her upper body pushed forward towards him. As his finger reached the base of her chest just above a stomach taut with muscle, he paused. “How many are you at the camp?”

“Moonfire burn you, Orc,” she replied, but each word was punctuated by a moan of frustrated pleasure. Thurg took his finger from her and placed it gently on her face, his thumb resting on her lower lip. On their own her lips parted slightly and her tongue darted out, licking the edge of his finger. Her lips wrapped around its edge and she gently sucked on it for a few long moments. Her eyes closed and she forgot where she was, so desperate to lose herself in this small task. Suddenly her eyes opened and saw his face looking down at her with a smug smile. Resistance mounted once more and she went to bite his finger, bue he seemed to be aware of her intent and he removed his hand from her face before she could.

He gripped her nipple between the wet thumb and the side of his forefinger and pinched. The Sentinel cried out, but some subconscious part of her stifled and muffled her voice, not wanting to alert the others. Her hips bucked back and forth against what little leverage she could give them as her cry died into a long moan. 

“Wrong answer again. How many, Elf slut?” Her nipple was still fast in his grip, and he twisted slightly, enhancing the feeling. 

“Six...there are six of us.” She groaned again, a ripple of pleasure as she answered him. “Myself, three other sentinels, our commander, and a supply officer.” She realized that she was rubbing her thighs together as she spoke, though little was coming from it. 

“That’s better. You deserve a reward,” Thurg gave a wicked smile as he twisted her nipple back the other direction and moved his body closer to her own, so that only an inch or less separated them. “Who is the commander?” He pulled now, still holding fast and tight, and the mix of pleasure and pain shot through her. 

“Nnng...fuck, please,” was her only reply. Her thighs still rubbed together and the movement was not lost on Thurg. He let go of her nipple as she whimpered quietly. “Please…” Her lips parted and her tongue sat on her bottom lip as she panted and moaned.

He reached down and began to unlace her leather leggings with one hand, his fingers nimbly undoing each knot and fasten. He pulled them down just a few inches, enough to expose her sex. She was dripping, her lust already coating her thighs and folds from her desperate attempts at self pleasure. He asked once more, “Who is the commander? Answer me.” His finger he held fast, a hair’s breadth from her clit. She could feel the bark of the tree scraping against her exposed back and bottom. She pushed her cunt towards him, desperate to feel the touch, but he moved his hand back in parallel, and she could never reach it.

“Swiftarrow! Please, just touch me…the commander is Su’ura Swiftarrow.” He moved his hand forward, so that his fingertip was on her clit, but he did not rub her. She bucked her own hips, trying to elicit the same sensation. “I’ll tell you anything, I beg you…” No matter how much she moved her body it wasn’t enough.

“Yes. You will.” He paused for a moment, watching her work, feeling the rush of power from conquering his foe. “Can you lure her here? Alone, without others?” He flicked her finger against her clit once and she let out a gasping “ah!” 

‘ _ Lure her…?’  _ Her mind was suddenly filled with lurid thoughts, of the commander being ambushed by this Orc in a trap she laid, of him mounting the famed Night Elf Warrior and breaking her while Farsong watched and touched herself. Of holding her down for him as he fucked her, and of laying entwined with her as he covered them in seed. The thoughts drove her beyond her limit and she cried out her first orgasm as Thurg began to rub her clit in earnest as if he sensed her inner thoughts and capitulation. 

Finally, she came down from her climax, and panting she looked at him. “Yes, I can bring her here.” She paused, still looking at him, before finally adding one more word to her statement. “Master.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. This is the first story I've posted publicly, and I appreciate any feedback.


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